


Singularity

by Marasa



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: (I guess?) - Freeform, Angst, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Weird, kinda sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:20:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27487186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marasa/pseuds/Marasa
Summary: They are a single entity.
Relationships: Stewy Hosseini & Sandy Furness, Stewy Hosseini/Kendall Roy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	Singularity

They are a single entity.

Not two-headed, rather a reflection of the worst in the other. When business associates call on them in the depths of their desperation, they do not ask for one or the other but rather the conglomerate that is their metaphorical wallet, chock-full of ones and zeroes tied up in the market and in countless companies. Their influence is rapidly spreading like herpes.

They cannot be separated. But Kendall is one of the only fences that creates a border between them. 

Sandy and Stewy are sitting poolside, taking in the view of palm trees and ocean waves that acts as the backdrop to their hotel stay. They do not order individual plates of breakfast but instead one tray of fresh fruit and bitesize breakfast meats wrapped in toasted bread and paired with expensive jams, of which they pick at noncommittally. 

They nurse their slight hangovers with bottomless mimosas. It is like magic how they swallow down the liquid and upon blinking, find them refilled, the liquid flirting with the rims of their glasses. Their sunglasses are Armani, the latest collection. Sandy buys two pairs, gives one to Stewy as a gift and it’s an intimate gesture the same as cradling your own face or kissing a mirror— awkward, cold. 

Sandy must notice the hickey on Stewy’s neck. He sits on it for awhile, but can’t help himself from speaking on it. 

“I don’t understand you and him.” 

Him. He was here—the most beloved Roy son. He is Stewy’s shadow and therefore Sandy’s. If only his father could see him now, what would Logan think of his boy mulling around in the company of leeches, wide-eyed, wet-mouthed, out of his depth? 

Kendall was at a nearby island yesterday afternoon. Kendall was in Stewy’s bed last night. He was beautiful in that pathetic way Stewy loves. He was there in secret like it was something to be embarrassed of.  _ I’m the one embarrassed of you,  _ Stewy had gone to say but stopped himself. Why? It might have tasted too disgusting on his tongue, too gross to his own ears. But still he worried himself with Kendall Roy and Kendall craved him, had said so and Stewy had no reason to not believe him when he was like that—ripped open. 

Sandy didn’t understand it so that meant Stewy didn’t either. His line of thought would always scramble when trying to speak of his relationship with Kendall. Maybe it was the immensity of their history, something in it indescribable and innate, like that time they had dropped acid and recognized each other in some cosmic way, that single sentence being the only piece of coherency in Stewy’s being:  _ This is my heart.  _ And he had meant ‘heart’ in all its gory glory: throbbing and horrendous and seeping sticky life. 

“That relationship— it’s sour,” Sandy says. He is smoking a cigarette. It smolders between his fingers. “You can keep trying to plant it, Stewy, but bad seeds don’t grow.”

“You don’t have to get us.” White smoke spirals like a hurricane inside of lungs. “Stay out of it, actually.”

Sandy’s head lolls to the side to peer at his other self. “Hey, I’m not opposed to it. God no. It’s good that you keep him close.”

“He listens to me.”

“He obeys. He wants to obey.” Sandy peers out at the ocean waves. “You can’t buy something like that.”

They have two mouths but only one of them does Kendall Roy heed. This is the mouth that speaks firmly and with confidence, and this transfixes the man who frequently drags his fingers over Stewy’s lips and slides into the heat of his mouth so he can feel his soft tongue beneath his fingertips. There was one exception, a single weakness, for when this mouth spoke “I love you,” Kendall remained wholly unconvinced of its authenticity.

“He’ll listen to me,” Stewy mutters once more because he needs to hear it himself. He takes a sip of his mimosa. The glass might be filling from the bottom up.

Stewy has a recurring fantasy. It plagues his dreams, his waking life too. It is of him being invited to Kendall Roy’s execution. It looks a lot like the foundation gala and is just as heavily-attended. They serve filet mignon. It is perfectly cooked. Logan takes the stage and everyone claps. He smiles proudly. His words mean nothing but hollow as they are, they are charming. Then Stewy is called upon by name. The crowd surrounding him turns to look at him. Logan remarks about them being very close, him and the one standing somber on the stage behind him in his Alexander Amosu suit. Stewy is prompted to say something about the man of the hour.

Kendall isn’t looking at him. He’s staring at his shoes. Stewy has trouble remembering his eyes for some reason, can’t quite recall how they usually fill with tears.

“There’s nothing to say,” Stewy says. “He’s finished.”

“Finished?”

And Stewy nods, his eyes widening ever so slightly as he tears his gaze from Kendall to look at the monster who has orchestrated this, everything. “He always has been. Since the beginning. He’s always been finished.”

“Would you have saved him?” Logan asks.

“If I could have.” The lights swell, their luminescence blurring together, and the moisture wavering at Stewy’s waterline makes them glimmer like stars. “If I had known how.”

“It’s not up for you to know those things,” Logan assures kindly. He’s leaning slightly forward onto the podium, so it seems more casual, more heartfelt. He has this softness in his eyes that makes him seem like a father. “Things like that are hard. I couldn’t even do it.”

“You made the cage.”

“And I forgot the key. Somewhere.” Logan smiles sadly, shrugs. “These things are hard.”

The crowd claps. Kendall hangs his head. And then it happens. Or it has happened. Will happen. It doesn’t really matter where the event falls on the wheel of time; it is reality, forever.

Stewy stands. He drops his cigarette butt into the glass of mimosa held in Sandy’s hand. Sandy says nothing, might breathe a huff in acknowledgment as Stewy turns his back to the ocean and approaches the pool. He peels off his shirt, throws them atop his sandals beside him. He jumps into the water and sits at the bottom of the pool.

He can’t hear much down here. 


End file.
